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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554580">May the odds be ever in your favour</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiikigane/pseuds/hiikigane'>hiikigane</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Someone will die eventually I'm not sure who yet, Will add more tags as I go along</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:56:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554580</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiikigane/pseuds/hiikigane</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunger Games AU: Georgie Denbrough is reaped for his first ever Hunger Games. On Bill's request, Eddie volunteers to take his place and ends up teaming up with a group of kids from other districts to navigate the arena, developing feelings for one of them along the way.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I got this idea while re-reading the Hunger Games. It seemed like a really interesting concept at first--sorting the Losers into different districts based on their interests like "Hehe Eddie owns a limo company in the book, District 6! Bev makes clothes, District 8!" but the more I write, the less confident I get, so I'm just gonna upload what I have first :V </p><p>The Power of Friendship™ doesn't really translate well in a story where kids are expected to turn on and kill each other, and in an arena of 24 tributes, 7 people forming an alliance and not turning on each other would probably draw a lot of suspicion since the Hunger Games is an inherently political story and I didn't wanna get into the rebellion/mockingjay arc soooo I made some tweaks to their ages! Mike and Stan are 40, like the older Losers in Chapter 2. The remaining Losers are 17, and Bill was a victor a year before this story, so only 4 of them will be in the arena--hopefully it's more manageable this way ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)</p><p>Relationships-wise, slowburn Reddie is endgame but Eddie has a one-sided crush on Bill to work through his system first. I'm running low on confidence and motivation to continue (and am also a bit stressed with RL stuff) so updates might be sporadic but I have a plan in mind, sort of!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Go home, kid.”</p><p>Eddie looked up from the tangle of wires in his lap, surprised. Of all the assigned jobs kids had to report to after school starting from the age of twelve, his was as good as it got—polishing and occasionally performing maintenance on District 6’s sparse supply of cars. Cars hadn’t seen much use in Panem long before the Dark Days, since they were apparently oil-guzzling, carbon fuel-emitting monstrosities that had been part of the reason for all the environmental disasters that had ravaged the Earth hundreds of years ago. At present, technology had improved enough that transport between districts was done by either hovercraft or trains, so most of the kids in the district were involved in factory work assembling different parts of those vehicles or helping out more experienced workers as they conducted maintenance. Eddie was the only kid who reported to Mr. Hagarty, the only adult in charge of the cars, a relationship that they had maintained for the past five years.</p><p>“But I haven’t clocked the full four hours yet.”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter. There isn’t jack shit to do around here, right? Don’t know why they bother keeping these old clunkers in storage. The Mayor doesn’t even know how many there are.”</p><p>Eddie had a vague sense that some authority figure, whose power was beyond even what Mayor Bowie wielded in their district, must have made this decision. Though he would never voice it out loud, except perhaps to Bill, he liked these relics from the past. Compared to the engines of the hovercrafts and trains they learned about in school, the machinery under a car’s hood was laughably simple, but they reminded him of the potential of humans to grow and evolve. Somewhere along the line, his ancestors’ fingers had gone from wielding sticks and starting fires to assembling pieces of complex machinery. Of course, they had also irrevocably destroyed the world, but he’d scavenge whatever crumbs of happiness he could find from a grim place like this.</p><p>Thinking about Bill, unfortunately, turned his thoughts to the Hunger Games and the upcoming reaping. It had been almost a year since Bill had stood, grim-faced and shaking, on the stage as the male tribute for the Games. District 6 had never been a strong contender in the Games, but against all odds, Bill had triumphed over the other twenty-three tributes and, once the celebrations and fanfare had died down, moved his family into one of the houses in Victor’s Village. It was the only house in the village that was occupied.</p><p>“Look, if you’re not gonna take the chance to skip out, at least keep working. I’m not paying you to sit around and stare into space.”</p><p>“You don’t pay me a damn thing,” Eddie sniped back. It was true. The official Capitol term for what he and his peers did was “work-study attachment”, meant to give them practical experience and insights into the different jobs available to them in the district once they had finished school. However, everyone knew it was a way of exploiting free labour. It was mandatory to sign up for these “work-study attachments” unless you had a debilitating physical disability or illness, and despite Eddie’s mother’s best efforts, his name had been included in the roster.</p><p>“Don’t blame me for that, blame the ones in charge.” Mr. Hagarty’s voice dropped at the last part, and for a moment Eddie wondered if he meant Mayor Bowie or the Capitol. Then the moment passed, and Mr. Hagarty was pointing to the half-assembled engine in Eddie’s lap. “You mixed up the wires.”</p><p>Eddie corrected his mistake, then slid the engine onto the floor. “I’m heading out.”</p><p>“Of course you are, and of course you’re leaving me to put this back in.” Mr. Hagarty waved him away. “See you at the reaping tomorrow.”</p><p>It wasn’t until Eddie was halfway to Bill’s house in Victor’s Village that he remembered Mr. Hagarty had a son who would be eligible for the reaping for the first time this year. No wonder he wasn’t in the mood to work.</p>
<hr/><p>Since his shocking win last year, Bill was officially the richest person in District 6. He was also, in theory, the one with the most time on his hands since he no longer had to go to school or take part in “work-study attachments” to prepare himself to join the district trade. However, he spent a lot of time travelling between the Capitol and District 6. Eddie guessed that Bill was a hot commodity in a city that prized youth and good looks, but unlike the victors who eagerly embraced their newfound celebrity status, Bill wanted to stay connected to his family in District 6. Between Bill’s hectic schedule and Eddie’s mandated after-school job, they hadn’t seen each other in months. But Eddie knew Bill would be home today. Victors had to be at the reaping, after all.</p><p>There was an unusual amount of noise emanating from Bill’s house. Eddie peeked in through the huge window and saw Bill and Georgie sitting on a plush sofa. Bill had an arm slung around Georgie, who was talking animatedly to a man with a lime-green wig and bracelets curving all the way up both arms. They were being filmed by a crew with equally outlandish hair and clothes. All Capitol citizens, then. Eddie hadn’t considered that they might want to film and follow Bill around the day before the reaping. His heart sank as he considered the alternative—going back to the tiny, boxcar-like apartment he shared with his mother. She only worked half-days now thanks to her asthma and weak heart—incidentally, the same illnesses she had claimed for Eddie in an attempt to get him excused—and would be home by now. Maybe he could take a walk around town until it was time to go home, or sit by the quarry that he and Bill used to play at when they were younger?</p><p>But just as he had decided that the solitude of the quarry would be better than the crowded town where all the merchant kids who would look down their nose at him, the Capitol camera crew started to pack their bags. Eddie watched as the man with the wig and bracelets gave Georgie a huge bear hug, then shook Bill’s hand and jumped to his feet, ready to leave. He slid soundlessly around the corner, hiding himself from view as the group bounced out of the house, chattering away in their affected accents.</p><p>“—Bill was sixteen when he was reaped, but Georgie’s only twelve! Would that affect his chances?”</p><p>“—mentoring your own brother!”</p><p>“—Can’t wait to place bets on him!”</p><p>Eddie’s fists clenched. Bill would throw himself into the arena a second time before letting Georgie enter it. Of course, even Bill’s newfound status as a victor didn’t guarantee the protection of his family members. Younger siblings had been reaped before, and there were whispers that such reapings were rigged for dramatic effect. For Bill’s sake, Eddie sincerely hoped what he’d heard was simply the idle chatter of a group of bored, entitled Capitol citizens rather than solid fact. He went back to the front door and knocked.</p><p>Bill answered the door with a hassled expression, but his face relaxed into a smile as he saw who was standing outside. “Hi, Eddie. You just missed the circus.”</p><p>“Saw them leaving,” Eddie said casually, deciding not to mention what he’d overheard. “Those the sort of clowns you hang out with nowadays?”</p><p>Bill rolled his eyes. “Please. I’d much rather be here in the district.”</p><p>“Starving and living in a shithole?”</p><p>“Jesus, Eddie, you’re not starving. The one good thing about winning is that everyone in the district gets food. At least that’s one worthwhile thing I’ve accomplished.”</p><p>“Of course,” Eddie said hastily. He hadn’t meant to imply that Bill’s sacrifices in the arena were all for nothing, but surely Bill had to see that the once-a-month deliveries were a far cry from the decadence of the Capitol? Why was Bill so <em>snappy</em>?</p><p>The awkward silence was broken by Georgie, who had sidled up to them. “Hi, Eddie. You noticed that Bill’s not stuttering anymore?”</p><p>“Hi, Georgie. Wait, really? Bill, say something!”</p><p>“Eddie, I’m not some dog that speaks on command,” Bill said reproachfully, but now that Eddie was listening, it was true. Bill spoke slowly, like he was weighing each word before they crossed his lips, but the stutter that had dogged his childhood and made him the target of so much bullying in school was gone. “Speech therapy. It was one of the first things I had to do. Can’t have a victor who can’t talk properly, after all.”</p><p>“You could just stand there like the eye candy you are,” Eddie joked, jumping at the opportunity to fall back into their old pattern of friendship and silently thanking Georgie for diffusing that weird moment of tension.</p><p>“Oh yes, they love good-looking twinks in the Capitol.” Something flickered in Bill’s blue-grey eyes. Then he shook his head slightly and smiled at Eddie. “Want to show me around town? I haven’t been back in ages. And before you ask, no, you can’t come.” This was directed at Georgie.</p><p>Georgie rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to ask. Why would I soak myself in the germs in that filthy quarry water when I can just run a nice bath here in the house?” </p><p>“You just had to bring up germs, didn’t you,” Bill muttered as Eddie started to ramble. “The germs! God, Bill, I still haven’t forgiven you for pushing me in when we were kids! I must have swallowed a gallon of pisswater! We’re not going in the water, all right? The last thing I need right now is to catch pneumonia!”</p><p>Georgie smiled devilishly. “Have fun.”</p>
<hr/><p>The quarry was on the edge of the district, far away enough from Victor’s Village that they decided to take Bill’s bicycle, Silver. Eddie was surprised and touched when Bill had wheeled the bicycle out of the house—Bill had always liked riding around, but Silver’s rickety frame was held together by a wing and a prayer, and he’d assumed that Bill would have gotten a flashier model now that he had the money. He sat down, back facing Bill, clinging to the side of the seat that he had always taken when riding double.</p><p>“Christ, just put your arms around me,” Bill said.</p><p>Eddie was glad he was facing away from Bill, because his cheeks were starting to flame. Surely Bill wasn’t inviting him to cling to his waist like a lovesick schoolgirl? Had Bill forgotten how malicious people could be, or was this a Capitol thing? People in the Capitol seemed less inhibited and more open in expressing their emotions, if the peppy camera crew that Eddie had spied on was anything to go by.</p><p>“Fine,” Eddie mumbled. He spun around in the seat and allowed his arms to encircle Bill’s waist. Bill’s body was warm, like a rock that had been basking in the glow of the summer sun, and he felt the hardness of muscles that hadn’t existed before the reaping. He remembered Bill’s prepubescent, stick-thin body, with ribs poking through the skin like a xylophone, wondered what Bill’s body looked like now and hastily pushed the thought out of his head.</p><p>The ride to the quarry took at least forty minutes. Once Bill had steered them past the town centre, Eddie had relaxed and pressed his head into Bill’s back. With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine they were eleven again. No reaping hanging over their heads, no work-study attachment, their only pressing concern to get Eddie home before his mother had a heart attack. He let the daydream spin out even further. A world where children didn’t live in fear of striking the lottery of death, where food was abundant, and people could choose their own jobs. A world where he could be free.</p><p>“You asleep?”</p><p>Eddie’s eyes flew open and he pulled himself upright. Lush green vegetation surrounded a steep, sun-baked cliff that dropped into the glistening water below. This was the cliff that Bill had pushed him off so many years ago, and Eddie remembered treading water and shrieking up at Bill, a tiny figure in the distance, before his words were abruptly cut off as Bill cannonballed into the water. He smiled at the memory. “Nah, just relaxing. You ride like a demon, but I think that’s part of what makes it so fun.”</p><p>“I ride to beat the devil,” Bill boasted, and the words overlapped with a distant memory of Bill standing proudly next to a slightly less rusty, slightly more functioning Silver many years ago. “Since we’re here, wanna go for a swim?”</p><p>“<em>Fuck no!</em>” Eddie burst out. “My mother’s gonna have a cow if I come home with, like, fucking pneumonia or some shit. We barely have enough money to buy asthma medication as it is.”</p><p>“Where do you get it from again?”</p><p>“Mr. Keene’s,” Eddie mumbled. “It’s cheap but it works.”</p><p>Bill looked like he was about to say something, then changed his mind. “I actually brought you here to talk. Away from the house and Georgie. It’s our house, but I sometimes get the feeling it’s bugged.”</p><p>Eddie could see why Bill felt uneasy about the house. Even taking into account the few family pictures and personal effects in the living room, the house felt more like a plush prison that Bill’s family was allowed to inhabit, rather than a true home. Bill turned to Eddie now, blinking rapidly.</p><p>"Georgie is twelve this year."</p><p>"Ye-es," Eddie said cautiously.</p><p>"And you're seventeen. I mean, we're both seventeen."</p><p>An alarm started to ring at the back of Eddie's mind. Of course Bill would have connected the dots before Eddie. He stayed silent, letting the fragile web of tension spin out between them before Bill delivered the fatal blow that would tear it to shreds.</p><p>"Ordinarily, I wouldn't be worried about this. It's Georgie's first reaping, and he hasn't taken out any tesserae. But the people in the Capitol crave drama. They want to see family bonds stretched to the limit, best friends pitted against each other, that sort of thing. They would love it if Georgie was chosen and I had to fight to keep him alive."</p><p>This much was true. Hadn't Eddie himself considered the rigged reaping scenario? He had watched enough of the Games to remember certain years when relatives of past victors were chosen. It packed a juicy punch, and there was also the added possibility that District 6 might be able to win two years in a row. Eddie could see how this would make for an interesting narrative if children’s lives weren't at stake.</p><p>"I would go back in again to protect him, but victors are excluded from the reaping. I wouldn't be able to volunteer to take his place." Bill took a deep breath, and while his next words were slow and cautious, they hit Eddie with the force of a cargo truck going at full speed. "Eddie... if Georgie is chosen, will you volunteer to take his place?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Eddie?? Eddie!!"</p><p>The sun was suddenly too bright, the air too hard to take in. There was a gasping noise, like someone was struggling to draw breath. Eddie knew it was coming from him, knew his asthma was acting up again and a puff on the discount inhalers from Mr Keene would set him right. But he didn't have the strength to reach for it. His fanny pack seemed a million miles away.</p><p>A pair of callused hands ghosted over his skin, and there was a rustling sound as Bill fumbled with the zip of his fanny pack. It wasn't long before he felt the familiar shape of the inhaler's mouthpiece between his lips, and the slightly acidic taste of liquid that cleared up his airways.</p><p>"Thanks," he panted.</p><p>"Nuh-no problem," said Bill's voice, and he registered that Bill was stuttering again. "Didn't m-mean to set you off."</p><p>Even as his breathing returned to normal, Eddie continued to cling on to the inhaler. It was the only constant in a world that had just been turned upside down.</p><p>"Eddie..."</p><p>"I know. Give me a moment." Eddie flopped onto the ground, exhausted. The part of his mind that often spoke in his mother's voice started a tirade of warnings about mud, bugs and dirt, but he was too tired and overwhelmed to care. Looking up at the vast expanse of sky, he wished he could sprout wings and fly far, far away from District 6, away from this conversation and the heavy responsibility he was about to shoulder. "You know what you're asking, right?"</p><p>"I know." Bill's voice was quiet. "I'm asking you to d-die for my brother. I know it's a terrible thing to ask for. But I'm g-guh-gonna bring you back, Eddie. I'm not abandoning you in the arena alone. My mentor last year didn’t give a rat’s ass whether I lived or d-died, but then again, he was rotated over from District 2 because our own district didn’t have anyone to take on the role. I’m not like that.”</p><p>“I know,” Eddie said. Bill was a responsible person, and no matter how much he hated his role in the Games, he would do his best for the tributes of District 6. Another thought struck him. “Wait, there’ll be a female tribute as well. What if it comes down to the two of us?”</p><p>Bill’s face twisted into an expression of abject misery, and Eddie hastily said, “Don’t worry about that. I’ll probably drop dead of an asthma attack the moment someone comes at me with a knife.”</p><p>“You wuh-won’t,” Bill said fiercely. “You want to talk strategy? <em>Run</em>. Get your hands on whatever’s within reach and <em>run</em>. That’s how I avoided being drawn into the bloodbath last year.”</p><p>“But I have asthma,” Eddie said lamely. It was a half-hearted protest, the equivalent of telling a teacher he hadn’t done his homework because Mercury was in retrograde, but it was all he had. The only words that anyone associated with him were “delicate” and “sickly”. Maybe he should add “stupid” to the list, because he was essentially offering himself up as a sacrifice despite his illness.</p><p>“They’ll make sure that there’s medication in the arena. They’d rather you died by the hand of another tribute than of natural courses. Maybe they even have medication that can cure asthma completely. I’ll call in all the favours to get it to you.”</p><p>Eddie didn’t doubt that such medication existed. What he doubted was Bill’s ability to get this magical cure into his hands, whether by ensuring it was nestled among the supplies the tributes would fight over the moment the gong sounded, or by delivering it in one of those silver parachutes as he lay gasping for breath in the arena. He didn’t want to voice these doubts out loud, though. If these hazy mental pictures sharpened into reality…</p><p>“You’re really brave, Eddie.”</p><p>“It’s a little too late for flattery, Bill.”</p><p>“No, I mean it.” Bill’s warm hands clasped Eddie’s cheeks, forcing him to make eye contact. “You could have told me to jump off a cliff or told me that your asthma would kill you before a tribute did. But you didn’t outright reject me.”</p><p>“I always knew you loved Georgie more than me,” Eddie joked, his eyes darting away. He had admired Bill even before the hormones slumbering in his body had awakened, causing him to take note of the way the sunlight brought out hints of red in Bill’s brown hair and the shape of Bill’s lips as he struggled to form words. He’d told himself it was a natural result of spending so much time with the only friend he’d ever had in his life. But if he loved Bill in <em>that</em> way, why hadn’t it occurred to him to volunteer last year when Bill was chosen? Was he just hormonal and lonely? Was this really the time and place to be worrying about his sexuality?</p><p>“I do love you,” Bill said. “As a brother.”</p><p>“The less-favoured brother, then.” <em>There we go. Officially bro-zoned. Good thing I didn’t tell him I’ve had a crush on him for years. If I scared him off now, I’ll be navigating the arena alone. </em></p><p>“Maybe brother isn’t the right word.” Bill took his hands away from Eddie’s cheeks and pulled the smaller boy up into a sitting position with ease. “Is there a word for someone who’s more than a friend but less than a lover?”</p><p>“Fuck buddy?”</p><p>“That’s two words.” Bill leaned forward. “We need to work on your counting before you go inside.”</p><p>Eddie knew what Bill was planning to do even before he did it. As Bill’s face drew closer, Eddie angled his own face so that his lips landed on Bill’s, and he drew out the kiss with a hunger and desperation that surprised himself. At least he could die knowing that Bill tasted like cherries.</p><p>Bill mumbled something against his lips, and Eddie pulled away. “What?”</p><p>“I was aiming for your cheek.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“You’re a great kisser.”</p><p>“Thanks…?”</p><p>‘Have you been practicing on someone?”</p><p>“<em>What</em>? No.”</p><p>“You’re going to make some guy very happy in the future.”</p><p>“I don’t want a Capitol boyfriend,” Eddie said, shuddering as he pictured someone with rainbow-coloured hair and loud, flashy clothes.</p><p>“Let’s focus on getting you out of the arena first.” Bill adjusted their hands so their pinky fingers were interlaced. “I promise I’ll bring you back alive. This has nothing to do with the glory of District 6 or mentoring a victor in my very first year. You hear that, Eddie? It’s for you. Come back to me.”</p><p>“I will,” Eddie said. He curled his pinky finger around Bill’s and tried not to think about how the odds were completely against that.</p><hr/><p>For the first time in Eddie’s living memory, the Capitol escort who pulled names out of the reaping ball year after year had been replaced by someone who, at first glance, could pass for someone from their district. He squinted at the unfamiliar face from his place near the back of the line of kids eligible for the reaping. The man’s curly fringe fell to just above his eyebrows and there was a hint of stubble on his jawline, which was unusual considering that people from the Capitol tried to keep their faces clean-shaven to provide a smoother canvas for their makeovers. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. The only things that marked him as an outsider were his clothes—a tight-fitting blazer and well-polished shoes that looked more expensive than anything the merchant families in District 6 carried in their stores. Eddie wondered what the reason for the change was. Maybe the previous escort, who had always looked like she wished she was somewhere else, had finally been promoted. Maybe she was dead after one too many surgeries. Eddie didn’t particularly care about the fate of someone who gleefully sent children to their deaths every year, and despite the man’s conservative appearance, found himself hating this Capitol transplant with the same level of intensity.</p><p>The man introduced himself as Stanley Uris and got right down to business drawing names. Stanley plunged his hand into the glass ball containing the girls’ names and drew out a random slip of paper with the precision of a machine claw. “Sally Mueller.”</p><p>Sally Mueller was, incidentally, from one of the richer merchant families in District 6 and part of the group of girls that had made school miserable for people like Eddie and Bill. Eddie felt a momentary twinge of sadness watching her climb the stage on shaky legs—he didn’t like her, but he wasn’t sadistic enough to claim he would enjoy watching her die. Then he remembered that he would be going into the arena with her, and panic overtook every other emotion in his mind.<em> Fuck, he’s going to draw the boy’s name next please let Bill be wrong please don’t let it be Georgie please don’t let it be me please please PLEASE—</em></p><p>“George Denbrough.”</p><p>Whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire, and Eddie’s eyes snapped towards Bill, seated alone on a chair in a small, roped-off area where the district’s past victors watched and waited. Bill was frozen in place, every inch of his posture telegraphing alarm and horror. The cameras were probably zooming in for a close-up of the young, handsome victor who guide his brother through a new set of traps that he himself had navigated the year before. Would he succeed, or would he fail?</p><p>“George Denbrough?”</p><p>There was a hint of annoyance in Stanley’s voice now. Annoyed at the delay. Georgie had to be at the reaping; it was compulsory for everyone, so what was the hold-up? Anger coursed through Eddie then. Were people from the districts so beneath Stanley’s notice that he hadn’t realised the person he’d just called shared the same surname as the past year’s victor? Did he even <em>care</em> about how the families of the kids felt? Bill’s parents had already sent one son off to the Games, and they were about to lose another. It was this anger that propelled Eddie to declare, in a voice that carried over the whispers of the crowd, “I volunteer!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eddie was learning a lot of things today. For one, he was discovering that anger was a handy distraction from the other, panicky thoughts that lurked at the back of his mind, jostling for his attention. He shoved his way through the crowd of children and stalked onstage, only registering the scuffle going on among the audience when a voice he would recognise anywhere rang out.</p>
<p>“<em>Eddie! Noooooo! Eddie, are you crazy?! Come back here! Let go of me, I have to help my son!”</em></p>
<p>His mother was being restrained by two Peacekeepers. In a world where most people struggled to get enough food in their bellies, Sonia Kaspbrak was a rarity—a plus-sized woman whose presence was amplified by her shrill voice and hysterics. Big though she might be, she was no match for the Peacekeepers, who held her back with ease. Eddie hastily tore his gaze away from her and focused a spot in the distance, trying to block out her cries. If he listened too closely, he would burst into tears himself and run back into her arms. This was going to be his first, and probably last ever, act of defiance against her.</p>
<p>“You’re volunteering in place of George Denbrough?” Eddie jumped as Stanley materialised next to him. Stanley’s brow was furrowed, and Eddie couldn’t read the emotions in his brown eyes. Confusion? Irritation? He nodded curtly, before realising that Stanley was waiting for a verbal answer. “Yes.”</p>
<p>“What’s your name?”</p>
<p>“Eddie Kaspbrak. I mean, Edward Kaspbrak. Eddie’s a nickname.”</p>
<p>“I guessed as much.” The corners of Stanley’s lips turned up slightly, and Eddie thought his expression grew a little warmer. He turned to address the crowd. “The tributes for District 6—Sally Mueller and Edward Kaspbrak.”</p>
<p>The crowd was still too confused by this turn of events to applaud as they usually would, and in any case, it would be the height of cruelty to applaud with Sonia still crying and moaning Eddie’s name. Eddie was relieved when a different set of Peacekeepers chivvied them off the stage into the Justice Building, escorting them through a maze of corridors and stairs before depositing them in separate rooms.</p>
<p>The moment he was alone, Eddie yanked the inhaler out of his fanny pack and stuck it in his mouth. His entire body relaxed as he triggered puffs of air down his throat, and he was finally able to focus on something other than the fear that was starting to sink its jagged claws into him.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck, I did it, I actually did it, I’m going to be in the Games. Mom’s going to kill me when she gets here. That might be preferable to dying in the arena, especially since I don’t know what kind of weapons they’ll have this year. Will she kill me, or will she just cry the whole time she’s here?</em>
</p>
<p>The thought of spending the entire hour allocated to tributes to say goodbye to their loved ones fending off his mother’s pleas was exhausting. Eddie didn’t think anyone else would come to visit him, since he would see Bill on the train to the Capitol. He was toying with the idea of asking a Peacekeeper to bar the door so he could have his own breakdown in peace, when the door to the room swung open and Mr. Keene strode in.</p>
<p>“Mr. Keene,” Eddie said, surprised. He made to stow the inhaler back in his fanny pack—something about the man’s gaze made him feel guilty, like he’d been caught holding a blunt rather than medication—but Mr. Keene held out his hand for the inhaler and Eddie, never one to disobey a direct order from a grown-up, reluctantly handed it over.</p>
<p>“Do you know what’s in this thing?”</p>
<p>“Uh, asthma medication?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Supposedly.” Mr. Keene’s eyes bored into Eddie’s. “I didn’t want to have to do it this way, but if you’re going into the arena, you need to get rid of anything that might be seen as a weakness. This isn’t real medication.”</p>
<p>“What do you—”</p>
<p>“I’ve never stocked real asthma medication in my store before. Only people from the Capitol would be able to afford such drugs, and I’d never sell them for the pittance that your mother pays me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”</p>
<p>“I don’t—”</p>
<p>“<em>I’m saying you don’t have asthma.”</em></p>
<p><em>“That’s impossible!”</em> Eddie reached out to grab the inhaler, but Mr. Keene held it behind his back. Eddie noted resentfully that Mr. Keene could move pretty fast for an old man. “I have asthma, and this thing has always helped me when it acts up!”</p>
<p>“I’m sure it does.” Mr. Keene smiled humourlessly. “Your mother believes it works, and you believe whatever she says, so you go along with it too. I’m not a qualified medical professional, but of all the people who have come through my store looking for a cure, you and your mother aren’t among the sick ones. At least, you both aren’t sick the way you think you are.”</p>
<p>“Then why do you even sell us this stuff?”</p>
<p>“I have to make a living somehow.” For the first time, Mr. Keene looked sad. “The high-tech stuff from the Capitol is as close to a cure-all as you can get. But for us, out here in the districts, the best a sick person can hope for is something to stave off the symptoms while their immune system adapts to and fights the virus. Not all the medicine I sell is fake, mind you. It’s just vastly inferior to what the Capitol offers.”</p>
<p>“So you’ve been selling us inferior medication?”</p>
<p>“To actual sick people, yes. To you and your mother, who aren’t actually sick, I prescribe what’s known as a placebo. Something that has a psychological effect but can produce the desired physical effect because it’s not your body that’s sick, it’s your mind.”</p>
<p>“My mother’s not…<em>I’m</em> not mentally ill!”</p>
<p>“Like I said, I’m not qualified to diagnose either of you. This is all based on my observations of watching people waste away, knowing that the actual medicine they need is out of reach. But because they so badly want to believe that what I provide can help, even in the smallest way, it works. Do you understand?”</p>
<p>“I understand that you’re a liar and a cheat.”</p>
<p>“That’s one way to look at it. The other way would be to think of me as someone making a living through limited circumstances.” Mr. Keene tossed the inhaler back to Eddie and headed for the door. “You can hang on to this if you want. Just know that it’s about as useful to you as a piano is to an elephant.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>The door opened again, and Eddie’s head swung up in alarm. After Mr. Keene’s departure, he had sunk into a chair in the corner of the room and started playing with the zip of his fanny pack, pulling it open and closed again and again. Several times, when the pack was open, he came close to putting the inhaler back inside, but the words <em>this isn’t real medication</em> would intrude and he would get the urge to fling the inhaler in the opposite direction. He never managed to do it, though.</p>
<p>Bill’s parents, Sharon and Zack Denbrough, stood in front of him. Before he could stand up to greet them, they had launched themselves at him, and Sharon was crying and mumbling tearful thank-yous into the front of his shirt.</p>
<p>“’s okay,” Eddie said awkwardly. With everything that had happened since yesterday, he had forgotten that Bill’s parents didn’t know about the deal he and Bill had made. They had simply heard Georgie’s name and assumed that their world was going to collapse all over again.</p>
<p>“It’s not,” Sharon said fiercely. “We’ll never be able to make this up to you. But if there’s anything you need…anything at all…”</p>
<p>“Seriously, it’s fine,” Eddie said. “Bill’s going to be my mentor. I won’t be, you know. Alone.” But his voice caught on the last word.</p>
<p>“We’ll mobilise the district, get you supplies in the arena,” Zack said. “We managed to get Bill that water last year, remember? We should be able to get you some food and water. I’ll be frank with you, medication is insanely expensive from the start so I can’t promise you that, but…”</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Eddie said again. “I won’t need asthma medication.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” Both Sharon and Zack stared at him. Eddie didn’t want to get into the whole story about Mr. Keene, so he just shrugged and muttered, “Bill might be able to pull some strings for Capitol sponsors.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Sharon said, relieved. “Bill has connections now. He didn’t have anyone last year, but this year it’s different. You’re not going to be alone, Eddie. Bill will help you, and of course we’ll do what we can back here. We’ll bring you back home.”</p>
<p>Eddie gave her another awkward smile, but before any of them could say anything else, there was a commotion at the door as someone tried to yank it open. Eddie tensed up as he heard his mother’s voice spilling in through the crack. “—What do you mean someone’s inside, I have to see my son—”</p>
<p>“We should go,” Sharon said, and she and Zack retreated to the door. Eddie felt a tug at his heart, like he was being abandoned, which was ridiculous because his mother was right outside, wasn’t she? But there was no time for him to process his emotions. Sonia barrelled into the room without a second glance at Sharon and Zack, and engulfed Eddie in his second tearful hug of the day.</p>
<p>“Ma, it’s going to be fine,” Eddie said without conviction.</p>
<p>“No, it’s not. Nothing will ever be fine. You’re going to die, and I’ll be all alone. What were you thinking, volunteering like that? Do you really want to die so badly?”</p>
<p>“Of course I don’t want to die, but—”</p>
<p>“You’re delicate, Eddie! How will you fight those killing machines from District 2? They’ll rip you to shreds! And who knows what kind of environment they’ll throw you into this year. What if it’s freezing cold? Your fingers and toes will drop off and you won’t be able to hold your inhaler! Will they even let you bring it in? What if you get an asthma attack during the Games?”</p>
<p>These were all the fears Eddie had been trying not to focus on ever since making the deal with Bill. Hearing them voiced out by his mother, however, stirred up an alien feeling of irritation towards her. At least Bill’s parents were already looking ahead, thinking about how to ensure his survival through supplies. His mother was acting like he was already dead. The mention of the inhaler reminded him of Mr. Keene, and his next words cut through her cries like a blade. “I don’t actually have asthma, Ma. Neither do you.”</p>
<p>Sonia’s sobs tapered off, and she stared up at Eddie through wide, tear-filled eyes. Looking at her wounded (but somehow knowing) expression, Eddie reflected that her tears were usually all it took for him to cave in, but they had no impact at all today. Maybe the conversation with Mr. Keene had stripped away all his empathy.</p>
<p>“What are you talking about, Eddie-bear?”</p>
<p>“Mr. Keene came in just now. He said he’s been giving us a gazebo for years. It’s not real medication, because we don’t really have asthma.”</p>
<p>“Well, he’s talking nonsense! I work half-days because of my asthma, and you have asthma but the Mayor’s office was heartless enough not to excuse you from work. Fine with me, if Mr. Keene wants to lose our business, I’ll find another shop that can sell us the medication…”</p>
<p>“Ma, don’t you understand? You don’t have to buy medication. You’ve been wasting money on fake inhalers all these years. You’re not sick, and neither am I. It works because we believe it does, and sometimes belief can help people get better or something like that. Or maybe belief only works when someone isn’t actually sick. I’m kind of confused myself.”</p>
<p>“I…you <em>are</em> sick, Eddie! You have asthma, and nobody in the Capitol is going to sponsor a sickly tribute! Come with me, we’ll tell the Capitol person that you’ve changed your mind and get him to redraw the names…”</p>
<p>“That’s not possible. They already announced it live.” Eddie wondered why he wasn’t jumping at the opportunity to withdraw from the Games. The old Eddie would have gone along with his mother and stood mutely next to her as she begged, but the new Eddie didn’t want to grovel in front of Stanley and hear his rejection. He was still terrified of dying, but he was no longer just a tribute being led to slaughter. He had made the choice, and he would stick with it.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m not going to die as a weakling.</em>
</p>
<p>“Eddie, you can’t go! You can’t leave me!”</p>
<p>“I’ll be back,” Eddie said, more for his mother’s benefit than his own. He leaned in to give her a hug. “I love you, Ma.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
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